Everything Fun Is Morally Objectionable
by thattangledweb
Summary: Dean feels slitghly voyeuristic watching Sam sleep but Sam doesn't mind. Wincest. Spoilers for Season Two, but not for Season Three. I don't think.  No likey Why are you looking up SamDean stuff? no readey. Please read and review! Much appreciated :]


Okay, this was born of complete randomness. Regretfully I don't own Sam and Dean, Eric Kripke and those folks at the CW do, so don't kill me. I only own what I make these kids do in my head. :D and oh, what fun it is... XD.

So, anyway. No Likey No Readey... so... Read... and Review... those are always appreciated!

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Another musty, disused hotel room, another finished hunt. Amazingly, this one had gone smoothly. Nothing they hadn't seen before, nothing they couldn't deal with. No yellow-eyed demon- not anymore-, just your regular, run of the mill possession; exorcised- banished back to where it should be- and saved a life. That was good enough for Dean. He didn't care if he died a thousand times, if he saved one life, and he had to admit, if he kept Sam alive, then his job was done. And as long as he had a life to give, he would continue to do the same. Save people. Keep Sam alive.

So when that guy stabbed Sam in the back, Dean's world collapsed. Colors around him faded to gray, smells to nil, there was this whooshing sound in his ears that he couldn't hear past. He didn't hear Bobby talking. But he heard the trickle of Sam's blood over his hand. Blood on Sam, from Sam. He tried to reason it out in his head. Sam wasn't dead. He'd make it through. But when he saw the blood on his hand, he knew. Tears fell from his eyes with out his knowledge- because if he knew, he'd not have cried. He'd not let anyone- _anyone-_ know that he'd do _anything_ to bring Sam back. But not even that thought crossed his mind at that moment. All he could thing was _no. No Sam, please don't leave, you can't die. I need you. Sam, without you, I'm not Dean. Without you, I'm nothing._ Another though hit Dean in this moment.

He'd failed. His entire life's goal was to _keep Sam alive_, and here he was- dead. Dean did what he had to. Yes, he cried. His brother was dead- the brother that meant more to him than anything, yes he annoyed the living crap out of Dean, but that's only because he was under his skin to begin with. The brother he loved more than life itself was dead. He set out to prove that love.

He knew how. Dad had done it for Dean. Dean would do it for Sam. Did it for Sam. He stood at the crossroads, praying to what ever God would listen to his sacrilegious plea that a demon would come. He'd take anything. A day, a week, he didn't care, so long as he got to hear Sam breathe, talk, smile again, if only once. Not that he didn't want longer. He wanted a lifetime, but he'd take what he could get.

He got a year. The demon didn't expect him to take it- or maybe she did. Maybe he was more obvious in his love of his brother than he thought, or maybe the demon could see into his heart. He didn't care. He had a year. A year to savor every moment he got with Sam. To know that Sam was _alive_, and would be.

As soon as he kissed the demon, sealing the deal, he heard Sam's heartbeat, felt him breathe as if it were his own breath. It both comforted him and unsettled him. If he could feel Sam, could Sam feel him?

He sincerely hoped not. Dean shuddered at the thought. He'd never get any privacy. Admittedly, he didn't have much privacy anyway, but at least showers and bathroom time- times where his- less than brotherly, or was it more? - love for Sam got to him- were his own. If they ceased to be his, then he shuddered to think what would happen. It was a shudder of pleasure, but none too pleasant all the same.

If his thoughts ceased to be his own, the secret he'd kept for years- even before Sam left for college and his 'apple pie life'- would come out quicker than you could say "John Winchester", and Dean? Dean would also be out of the closet. Dean Winchester, ladies man extraordinaire, was gay- for his own brother. The girls would tend to disagree. But Dean had one thing to say- sex with girls named Sam was so much easier. And sex with men named Sam…

Luckily, Dean's new power seemed to be his alone. Sam couldn't feel him like he could feel Sam. Damn good thing too.

Dean suppressed a chuckle so as not to wake Sam up. Sam was asleep, and Dean smiled that Sam was alive _to_ sleep. It was a bittersweet smile- Sam was alive, but he only had a year. A year to somehow tell Sam that he meant the world to Sam, and the fact that Sam was alive, even though he was in Hell, would make anything the devil could dish out look like a cake walk.

Sam's breathing changed- went shallow. His heart rate accelerated, and Dean, feeling the change as his own frantically wondered what could be wrong. His question was answered by Sam's moans. Dean felt slightly voyeuristic listening to this obviously erotic dream, -and feeling its effects- but it was overridden by the need to know who Sam was dreaming about. It wasn't as if he was sitting in a chair by Sam's bed, wanking to his moans. No, he just happened to be _in the bed beside_ Sam's, wanking. There had to be a difference somewhere.

He kept his noises to himself- years of practice kicking in- and listened to Sam. "_Dean."_ Sam gasped. Dean immediately stopped breathing, shocked. Sam was dreaming about _him?_ An obviously _erotic_ dream? Dean didn't know whether die of shock or happiness- he didn't question that he would die- that was set in stone- but the cause of his death was yet to be decided.

At the moment he didn't much care. His Sam, star of every erotic dream Dean ever had- even when Sam was little and it was _wrong_, was dreaming about him. Irony there. But it put dean in a quandary. Did he wake Sam up, reveal how he felt, and engage in some very pleasant activities, or did he keep his mouth shut- and his body to himself- and not let Sam ever know that he ever felt this way and save Sam the sadness of knowing that Dean ever loved him? Oh. This was going to be hard. But he knew his mind was made up. He would always-_ always-_ save Sam. From whatever, even if it were from Dean himself.

But in the end, Dean knew, the answer would be left up to Sam himself. Not that he would know he was making a decision, but Dean would know. He'd made his decision in a split second. He would not tell him. Ever. He would suffer in silence- and let Sam suffer, even though it went against everything he ever felt- just to save Sam. To see Sam happy would make his life complete- to give his life purpose more than saving people ever did. His thoughts of Sam were interrupted, ironically enough, by Sam himself.

"Dean?" One simple word. Yet the question held such vulnerability, an uncertainty that broke Dean's heart. He would give anything- _anything_- to take the uncertainty out of Sam's voice.

"Yes, Sam?" Dean tried to put comfort in his voice, a smile to make Sam smile.

"Dean, I… just… I…" Sam sighed, "Dean, just don't leave me." Dean was angry that he had to eventually.

"Sam, you know that I can't promise that." It broke Dean's heart almost as much as seeing Sam dead had.

"I didn't mean at all. I meant now. Don't leave me right now. I know you'll have to…" Sam sighed again.

Something was wrong. Sam had never asked for his presence with out provocation before. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"I… I don't know. I just know I don't want to be alone." Sam looked so alone, so forlorn, hugging his pillow- the hotel pillow- to his chest, that Dean just wanted wrap himself around Sam, holding him close. To banish Sam's demons. He also knew he couldn't, not unless Sam asked him to. Sam wouldn't. He put on a tough act under the sensitive one. It was a very effective act. It said that he would listen to what you needed, and he wouldn't let you down. Dean had rarely seen under the masks, and yet he knew what kind of vulnerable creature hid beneath; a similar one hid in him as well.

"I won't leave." Dean said with certainty. And he wouldn't. He couldn't. This moment was all that mattered. The hourglass that his time left turned into didn't matter.

The tears that Dean had heard in Sam's voice, those that he had previously ignored on account of his own sanity fought for attention. "But you will. You don't have a choice."

"I had a choice. I chose to live a year with you over a lifetime without. Sam, your life means more to me than mine does. I would trade my life for yours a thousand times. Endure a thousand hells just to know that you breathe. That your heart beats, that you still have the power to influence the world. Sam." His voice cracked. "Sam."

"And you don't think I'd do the same for you? Dean. I can't even fathom life… if you're not in it." Sam was wracked by helpless sobs. Dean's body moved with out his mind's permission.

He slid into bed beside Sam- well; up against Sam the bed was so small. He pulled Sam close, his head to Dean's chest to hear his beating heart, threading his hand through Sam's hair. He breathed in the scent that was uniquely Sam, expanding his lungs as far as they would go, trying to fill his system with Sam, trying to replace all the oxygen he had with his little brother. "You hear that, Sam? It's yours. It beats for you; it will stop beating for you. With each beat it will pump blood into my veins for you, to protect you. I would gladly let it pump all the blood onto the ground if it would save you. Hear it, Sam? It's yours. It always has been. Even when it's not mine to give, it's still yours. I gave it to you long ago. The demon can't take what isn't mine anymore- what was never mine."

Dean let that sink in, holding Sam so close it was hard for Dean to know where he ended and Sam began. Surely they were one and the same? Sam's breath tickled the hairs on Dean's chest, reminding him that they weren't. "How long?"

Dean didn't even try to pretend that he didn't know what Sam was talking about. "Since you were too young to know what I was thinking. You were always important to me. I saved your life. But as you grew up, and developed a personality, I fell in love with who you were. You were independent. You were rebellious. You were everything I couldn't be. You stood up to Dad every chance you got. I could never, especially after he saved me. You dared to want a normal life. You. It was always you." He pulled Sam's head back gently, bringing his lips to Sam's forehead- the closest to Sam's lips his would ever get.

Sam had closed his eyes, and he had the strangest expression on his face. It was almost… regret. "You were always what Dad wanted you to be. You were the perfect little soldier for dad's little army. It's not that I didn't want to be, it's that I couldn't. I couldn't bear not to be able to live up to your standard. I never could. You were- are- perfect. So strong. You saved my life so many times I could never dream of repaying the favor. You were the only reason I could ever have for hunting these things. So I did, just so I could be with you. The 'apple pie life' that you think I want isn't all it's cracked up to be. When you've been forced to be wary your whole life it's hard not to be." Sam chuckled bitterly at the thought. "Plus that life didn't have you." Sam looked up into Dean's eyes. "Dean." Sam paused, an odd look on his face. "I love you."

"I know you do, Sammy." Sam's brotherly love could never be enough. Dean had conveniently forgotten about the events of not ten minutes before.

"No, Dean. I love you."

"Yeah. You're my brother. You love me. So what?" Hearing Sam say the words, though not in the context he wanted was killing Dean.

"Dean." Said Sam, giving Dean a look.

"Yeah?" Sam's hand moved up from their place on his chest to cup his face.

"You love me like a brother, right?" Sam's voice was husky with emotion.

"Yes, Sam. I love you like a brother." Dean's voice was a monotone.

"But you don't only love me like that, right? It goes deeper?" Sam sounded so convinced.

"Yes, Sammy, it goes deeper than that." He said on a sigh, trying to figure out what Sam's point was. "Way deeper." He muttered.

"Then why can't I love you on any other level than as a brother?"

Dean disregarded the notion as impossible. "You're too innocent. Yeah, you've seen stuff. Yeah you've killed stuff. But deep down, you just don't have the corruption necessary to love your own brother. To make love to your brother." Dean had to leave, to get as far away from Sam as humanly possible without actually leaving his presence. He tried to disentangle himself from Sam unsuccessfully. Somehow Sam had tangled their legs together, and was using his height to his advantage. He had Dean pinned.

"And what makes you think that?" Sam asked, smiling like a Cheshire cat. He shifted just enough to where Dean was pressed in between the mattress and Sam's body. Sam's very aroused body, Dean's mind cheerfully pointed out.

"I dunno." Sam was rapidly proving everything Dean had ever thought about his brother wrong. Well, not everything. His brother was… hot… and… well… Sam was well equipped. And those fantasies? Yeah, he was making those come true.

"Sam. We can't do this. We're brothers. It's wrong and all kinds of morally objectionable… and … and…" Dean lost his train of thought because Sam was using his Sam-ly wiles on Dean; the wiles that Dean could never refuse.

"When has that ever stopped us before?" Sam said, kissing a hot path down Dean's jawbone. "Remember the priest costumes? That was all kinds of morally objectionable." Dean had to agree, but only because Sam was nipping at the tender skin behind his left ear. His agreement turned to blissful abandon when Sam left a wet trail of kisses down Dean's neck and started laving at his collarbones.

"Sam-" Dean started before he was interrupted.

"I'm not gonna stop Dean. I know you want this as much as I do." Dean groaned.

"Wasn't…" Dean gasped as Sam licked a path down his chest. "Wasn't gonna… Fuck… Just fuck me, Sam." His hips jerked forward when Sam's tongue traveled down his stomach, dipping into his bellybutton. "Jesus, Sam." He felt Sam chuckle. "Goddamnit."

Sam pulled a tube of something from under his pillow. Dean couldn't think to question that the lube had been _under Sam's pillow_. It amounted to pre-planning on Sam's part, and that was just impossible. Sam's ever-talented mouth found Dean's again, just as also talented fingers found Dean's hole. That did not feel good at all, but Sam wiggled his fingers, and brushed _right there_.

Dean's world centered on the pain/pleasure of Sam's longlonglong fingers in him, stretching. Then there were _more_ and Sam spread them out, and it burned, but those fingers wiggled again and hit _that spot_ again. And t hen the fingers were gone, and the loss Dean felt was replaced by the feeling of something large replacing the space they left. It pushed past the first muscle, burning again, but brushing that place and ohmygod. Sam paused. "_What the hell are you stopping for?"_ A long low moan, coupled the words, and Sam pulled out slightly and thrust back in.

Dean's world imploded. His vision went white, and he came all over both his and Sam's stomachs. Followed immediately by the feeling of Sam coming in him.

"Holy mother of God…" Dean falls back, Sam's weight a comfortable pressure on top of him. Dean cards his fingers in that floppy hair that's too soft to be on a man. And what a man he is… Dean finds himself interested again.

"See? Everything fun is morally objectionable." Sam laughed at the glare Dean gave him.

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